


Xenophilia

by Not_You



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Hawk!Clint, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on Avengerkink that I'm too lazy to find again right now, with a quote from The Unusuals about Jeremy Renner's character not staring at a female characters boobs, despite said boobs being amazing.</p><p>Hawk!Clint was my explanation for the lack of staring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xenophilia

Langley always likes to know who she's working with, and has found that asking women about the men is often helpful. Today she's having coffee with King. She likes King, with her porn star body, her childlike face and that devious mind that knows exactly what each one will let her get away with. "What can you tell me about Barton?" Langely asks, setting their drinks down and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Her own approach is much less honey and much more vinegar. She thinks she and King will do an excellent Good Cop, Bad Cop if they get the chance.

King cocks her head, pondering the question. "Well, on the plus side, he doesn't stare at my boobs when he's talking to me." She sips her disgusting goddamn peppermint cocoa, the same pink as her lipstick.

"On the negative side?" Langley murmurs, sipping her green tea and devoting a fraction of her mind to wondering why it's 'getting coffee' even if no one orders the stuff.

King shrugs, somehow creating a truly beautiful jiggle without seeming to try. "I've got great boobs. Why isn't he looking?"

Langley laughs. "Gay?"

"You haven't caught him and Romanov sucking face yet, have you?"

"...Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Loyal?"

"No one's that loyal."

"Scared Romanov will gut him?"

"...Maybe. That one actually holds a little water. She can definitely take him at close quarters, and I've never actually seen anyone beat her at Evil Mind Games."

They ponder that in cozy silence for a while, and then look up as a shadow falls across their table. "Hey, King." And there's Clint Barton, like they've summoned him. She sits up and smiles, and it is dazzling. And genuine, too.

"Barton! How are you doing on that book I loaned you?"

He grimaces. "You know how slow I read. It's good, though." He glances at Langley and there's something shockingly sexless about it. About every line of his body. Forget noticing King's rack, he barely seems to register them as female at all. She has a weird flash of feeling like he's actually a different species, a creature that wouldn't look at King any more than a normal man would look at a cow. "Hey. Langley, right?"

"Right. Please, join us."

He holds up one of the takeout bags. "I would, but I've got to deliver these." It's weird, because apparently the idea of bringing someone pastry comes closer to turning him on than all King's charms. There's a little gleam in those sharp eyes, and he goes slightly pink. They assent with some kind of commonplace, both of them studying him as he walks away. And not just because his ass is fantastic.

"See?" King says at last. "It's the damnedest thing."

"I do see. ...Maybe it's some kind of fetish thing. Like he's a service sub, or something."

"Romanov does definitely rule whatever roost they're in."

Clint makes his way back to his nest as quickly as he can, keeping the bag as warm as he can, feeling like it's fresh prey. He would kill anything she wanted, but she knows that. It's funny, the difference their bond makes. When he had been newly changed and clumsy on his ten-toed feet, he had just assumed he wouldn't mate. It wasn't even a hardship, because while human females are lovely, lovely is all they are. Their beauty doesn't call to him, doesn't demand to be touched. Natasha is different. Natasha is his and she's a hawk on the inside. At first she had been like the others, beautiful but too small and too strangely-shaped to interest him. And then he had seen her fight, had looked into her eyes and seen a fellow predator of extraordinary strength. Clint does not envy his younger self, falling in love like a hawk and having to express it like a human.

He really is very human these days, but still lets out an inquiring little chirp rather than calling to his mate with words. She whistles from up in the loft where he sleeps, and he climbs up to join her. It's times like these that he misses his wings, but then Natasha smiles at him and it doesn't matter. He hands her the bag, foccacia still warm, and feels a surge of pride at her faint surprise.

"Did you wait for a fresh batch?" He nods, and she chuckles, trailing a hand down his arm where it's still good to be touched, a dim echo of preening. "What will I do with you, pretty bird?"

He chirps again. "Keep me, but not in a cage?"

"That sounds good." She leans in and kisses him, and he decides, like he always does, that this is his favorite part about being human.


End file.
